Casual: Mywin would want to wear crop tops and skirts or shorts that show a little skin because it’s very light and manoeuvrable alike night elven armour.
Formal: Ever since she ventured to Pandaria, she adores the fashion there and now prefers kimonos or qipaos. She likes shorter styles with high necks.
Screams of agony echoed out and rang out across Hyjal like a frantic alarm calling the sunrise, nearly bouncing off the mountain peaks with its intensity. Kalnor clung to her mattress, fingers digging as deep as they could into the thick padded fabric as sweat dripped down her face. The Sisters of Elune stood tentatively beside her: one delicately dabbing a cold flannel on her furrowed brow, the other at her rear, observing her progress. Tavanar held onto his mate’s one free hand, carefully cupping the small fist with his own larger paws. He murmured a few words under his breath that slowly allowed green wisps of healing magic to twist around her body in a airy thread, trying to relieve her pain. It had been mere hours since the aches began, these terrible flashing cramps thrashing in her belly. Elune had decided it was time.
“Falore,” the bottom Priestess urged, “it is time, you must begin to push.” Teeth gritted together, Kalnor gave a short nod, as deep as her strained neck would allow to indicate her understanding. Tavanar squeezed her hand.
“You can do it, my love.”
Kalnor allowed her body to tense, pushing with all of her might. Every muscle contracted and relaxed with every effort, the agony sparking up and down every nerve. Her back almost groaned with discomfort, her legs cramped from immense pressure. She pushed and pushed, not stopping until she heard a tiny cry from between her thighs.
“The dorei here!” Tavanar exclaimed, giving his mate a beaming grin to match an impressed stare in his twinkling eyes, “our dorei is here!” The Priestess swooped up the whining babe into her arms, gently rocking it as she turned to ease her into a wooden dish filled with warm, bubbly water. With the greatest of care she bathed the child; washing the blood clean off to reveal a pale blue shade before whispering a short prayer over it. A tired Kalnor watched sleepily with pride as the child’s head glowed under the Sister’s palm, a silver light illuminating a scalp that had not yet grown hair, like a ethereal halo or otherworldly crown. As she did, her companion took time to bless the new parents accordingly, the same ghostly hue radiating from her fingertips. The babe was then bundled up in soft wooden blankets before returned to an exhausted new mother. Though not crying anymore, the newborn cooed nervously as it was submerged in the cosy nest, content but almost looking around for something it needed. Once handed to Kalnor, the child seemed like to quieten in peace.
“Elune has granted you a daughter this day,” The Priestess told the couple courteously, “May the blessings we have bestowed keep you all good health until we shall meet again for her naming day.” The pair nodded gratefully as both Priestesses bowed and left to allow privacy between the new little family. They inclined their heads to behold the tiny little elf that now soundly lay wrapped in her mother’s arms.
“So, my love,” Tavanar brought an arm around his wife to half-embrace her, perching upon the side of the bed, “what will I be calling my daughter on her naming day?” Kalnor continued to lovingly look down at the life she had just brought forth and smiled.
“Winnifred,” she replied, pure joy coating her tone, “My dear Winnifred.”
Year -55
Mywin dismounted her gryphon as soon as its clawed talons touched the ground of Hyjal. She straightened and turned to the great bird that cawed and beat its wings expectantly. She reached into the satchel and produced a cloth-wrapped hunk of meat which she gave the beast who joyfully grabbed the gift in its sharp beak and excitedly gulped it down.
“Shaha lor'ma,” she said graciously, patting the gryphon on the head. It chirped back happily before spreading its giant wings, pumping itself back into the sky and flew away, gliding across the peaks. Mywin smiled as she watched it go, then turned and began making her way down the slope of a hill. Hyjal’s grassy plains remained glorious, spreading out from beneath the colossal beauty of Nordrassil and far off into the distance. She clutched the leathery handle of her bag as she walked down the hillside. In it held a bouquet of the prettiest flowers she could find to bring to her mother: a collection of snowy white Peaceblooms, violet Mageroyals and radiant crimson Fireblooms, all picked carefully for her mother. For her father she carried a new book on Druidic lore that she just knew he’d love her to read to him. They’d both read with a vigour and poured over ancient texts of both academic and historic importance. Cheerily she plodded down the path until she saw them and extended an arm out, waving in greetings. As she drew close enough, she flung her satchel down to the ground and sat upon the lush earth.
“An’da, min’da, I have returned and I have so much to tell you!”
The two gravestones couldn’t speak in return, but the wind picked up slightly, as if to say hello.
*Falore: “Sister”, used between females of the same species rather than relatives.
*Dorei: Literally translated means “chidren”, or “born of”. I couldn’t find a singular version, so in this context it simply means “child”.
